


to give you what you want

by Skylark



Series: Writing Commissions [1]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Begging, Breast Expansion, Clothed Sex, Demisexual Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Painplay, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Very light dacryphilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 18:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11583348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: Mihashi grows breasts. Abe adapts.





	to give you what you want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dicie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicie/gifts).



> A writing commission for a dear friend—thank you! My work can also be found on [my DW comm](https://thingwithfeathers.dreamwidth.org/). Title credit: "I Feel it Coming" by The Weeknd & Daft Punk.

Abe stares. 

He can't understand the sight before him—Mihashi with his shirt rucked up around his shoulders and half-folded arms, covered in a light sweat that makes his skin shimmer. Mihashi is all wide doe eyes, high cheekbones, wiry muscles and then—the swell of breasts beneath the lower edge of the shirt, a gentle rise that distorts the already rumpled line of the cloth. 

Mihashi gasps and his new breasts lift with the motion, bizarre rather than sensual. Abe feels like his world's axis is tilting. It isn't until Mihashi makes a distressed noise that Abe looks up.

Mihashi's biting his lip. His brow is crumpled with distress. "You don't like it," he whispers. "I—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's not," he starts to reassure him, but then gets tripped up by his own tongue. "It's not like that," he tries again, softer. It's not that he _disapproves,_ it's just—well, he's never been attracted to breasts. Abe doesn't even like _people_ much; it's hard for him to see human bodies as anything more than organic machines that one fine-tunes to get required results. Besides, nothing can compare to the feeling of Mihashi giving him the pitches he asks for ten times out of ten.

He doesn't find tits sexy, but Mihashi is the sexiest person Abe has ever known, and the tits are on Mihashi, so.

"How?" he croaks, and then swallows to wet his dry mouth. "Why?"

During Abe's pause, Mihashi has pulled his shirt back down. Abe's eyes wander over the changed silhouette of Mihashi's body, the way the shirt pulls tight over the tops of his breasts and then flows loosely past the curve, pulled away from his stomach. "I—I found a shop," he says. "That sold things. Potions. They said it might not work but it wasn't poisonous, and I—I wanted them." Mihashi's hands are drifting upward, apparently about to palm his own breasts, before they freeze in midair. "They said they'll...go away after a few days, so...you don't have to, um. Do anything. If you want."

Abe is moving forward before Mihashi can finish the sentence. "I'd die if I didn't touch you for that long," he says with utmost seriousness. Mihashi looks perplexed, but then Abe's in his personal space, one hand reaching up to cradle Mihashi's neck and tilt him to just the right angle for kissing. The noise Mihashi makes is simultaneous pleasure and relief.

Abe doesn't know what he thinks about the breasts, but he's known for years what he thinks about Mihashi. The kissing is warm and familiar, Mihashi's mouth opening underneath Abe's before he can even coax him into it, his whole body swaying towards Abe when their tongues touch. Abe's other hand slides around his waist to pull him closer, and Mihashi gasps. 

Abe breaks the kiss to look down. The shirt is big on Mihashi and loose in the collar; Abe can see the tops of his breasts through the gap, riding up as they press against his chest. He glances at Mihashi and finds that he's staring too, his blush slowly deepening as he takes in the sight. 

"You like that," Abe says, not quite a question.

Mihashi's eyes dart up, caught somewhere between embarrassed and excited. He nods once, a shy duck of his head.

Abe's hands move to Mihashi's sides. They run up his skin, making him shiver. He can feel the slight dip of his waist and the bumps of his ribs, each one delineated no matter how much food he pushes on Mihashi. It's all familiar territory, as known to him as the feel of Mihashi's mouth or the scent of his laundry detergent. 

Then his fingers run over softness. Mihashi shivers in his loose hold and pushes himself closer, his arms lifting to wind around Abe's neck.

They're more malleable than Abe expected. Most of his experience with boobs comes from anime physics, where each breast is large and firm enough to have its own gravitational pull. Mihashi's breasts are pliant, elastic. They remind him a bit of Mihashi himself, and how easily he conforms to Abe's demands.

He cups them from below, fascinated by the wavelike rise of Mihashi's ribcage against the edges of his palms. His breasts are big enough to fill his hands, and he runs his thumbs over the nipples, watching how they give under his touch. Even through the shirt he can feel the change of texture around the areola. Mihashi lets out a low whine. 

"A-again," he pants.

Abe glances up. Mihashi's nipples were never sensitive before. "It's...good?"

"It's good, it's good," Mihashi gasps, pushing his chest forward into his waiting hands. "Abe."

Abe spreads his fingers and gives him a good squeeze, slow but firm, pushing his breasts together so that cleavage appears through the shirt's open collar. Mihashi's breath turns ragged. Abe runs his thumbs over his nipples again and again until the noises spilling from his throat are high-pitched and constant, until his thumbs trip over the pebbled shape of them, until he can feel an erection pressing against his thigh.

"Oh," Mihashi says, his eyes flying open, hazy and somewhat alarmed. "Abe, um, I—"

"It's okay," he says, surprised by rough his voice sounds. "It's fine, I want you to feel good—"

"No no, it's not that—Abe, I-I think they're still gro— _ohhh_ ," he moans, his head tipping back. As Abe watches, his hands fill to overflowing, the shirt straining beneath his spread fingers. His grip loosens and Mihashi's breasts spring slightly upward before falling back into place, riding high on his chest.

"Abe," Mihashi is whimpering, "Abe, Abe," as if he's forgotten how to say anything else.

Abe licks his lips, feeling intent twine through his body at the sight of Mihashi's bared throat and trembling shoulders. But instead of pouncing he nudges Mihashi back towards the bed, one step after another. Mihashi's knees buckle when he hits the edge of the bed, and he drops to the mattress with a squeak. Abe can't help but stare as his breasts bounce.

"Are they going to grow any more?" he asks.

The look that crosses Mihashi's face is the same as when he's asked for his condition mid-game. His hands come up to rub his breasts, an assessment that quickly gets derailed by pleasure as his eyes flutter. His eyelashes are long, and sparkle with caught tears when he's overwhelmed; Abe wants that, suddenly.

Abe rests one knee on the bed and leans over Mihashi, who's now pinching his nipples, pulling on them through the cloth. "Stop," he murmurs.

Mihashi's eyes fly open, pleading—but he stops. Abe pushes his hands out of the way, arranging them over his head. "Leave them there," he says. "You didn't answer my question."

Abe pulls back to look over Mihashi's body again. His shorts have bunched up to show a generous expanse of thigh, and he can see the length of him pressing against the front. He reaches down, slipping beneath the waistband to take him in hand, and swallows hard at the wet smudge he feels on Mihashi's stomach. 

_Focus,_ he tells himself. "Focus," he repeats aloud, and watches as Mihashi drags his eyes away from Abe's hand and back to his face. Abe lets go and runs his fingers up Mihashi's middle, gathering the shirt as he goes until it catches above his breasts, leaving them exposed to his gaze. They're paler than the rest of him, not yet browned by rounds of endless afternoon practices, and tipped with darker nipples that are stiff in the open air. Abe runs his fingers around them and Mihashi's back arches from the bed, pushing for more contact. 

"Mihashi," he says gently, surprised because he hasn't had to fight this hard for Mihashi's attention in years. How sensitive _are_ these things, anyway? "If you don't answer my question, I'll stop."

Mihashi bites his lip and then takes a deep breath, slow in and out, the way Abe taught him when they were still first-years. "I t-think they're...done," he pants. "They were tingling a, a lot, before. But now they're just...really sensitive."

"Sensitive, huh," Abe says. He waits until Mihashi's looking at him and then sharply pinches them both. He feels a rush of adrenaline as Mihashi's pupils dilate. He squirms on the bed, his hips shifting between Abe's spread knees, and cries out, "More, Abe, _please,_ more—"

Abe pulls his breasts up and away from his body, watching the way the skin pulls taut and listening to his suppressed, hitching sobs. Mihashi's hands fist in the sheets above his head, leaving them right where Abe told him to, but his feet scrabble for purchase on the mattress and arch his whole body up. The movement lifts his hips in a mindless search for friction even as it pushes his shoulders deeper into the bed, sharpening the stretch.

"How does that feel?" Abe asks.

"It hurts," Mihashi says immediately, "it's good, oh, _Abe,_ more."

He twists a little and Mihashi gives a cut-off squeak, pushing his hips up again. His eyes are over-bright with unshed tears, changing their color to nearly gold. Abe frowns, considering the logistics problem of three erogenous zones and two hands, before he moves one hand down to cup beneath his balls. Mihashi's eyes flash open, accusatory, before he leans down and takes the abandoned nipple into his mouth.

He's never heard Mihashi get this loud this fast in his entire life.

It's hard to focus on this many things at once, but he has ample incentive. He licks, getting used to the feel of new skin against his tongue, before he sets gentle teeth around it and tugs. The nipple scrapes its way free of his mouth in time with Mihashi's long wail. Abe pulls his hand away from Mihashi's dick to spit into his hand, so overwhelmed that he can't even think to search for lube, and shoves it back down Mihashi's shorts to match the frantic jerks of his hips. His other hand presses into the plush softness of Mihashi's breast, squeezing and rubbing not unlike how he's squeezing Mihashi's dick.

It doesn't take long. Mihashi comes with a scream, his hands white-knuckled on the sheets, his toes curling. His skin is flushed from his forehead to the tops of his heaving breasts. Abe buries his face between them, pulling his sticky hand free of Mihashi's shorts to yank his pants down and stroke himself off, groaning as he spills over his hand and drips onto Mihashi's skin.

Exhausted, he wipes his hand clean on Mihashi's already-ruined shorts and then flops onto his side, reaching out to pull him close. Mihashi turns towards him with a sated noise, returning the hug so that his breasts are squished between them.

They're quiet for a few minutes, Abe's hand rubbing up and down along Mihashi's spine, with Mihashi melting into the continuous affection as he always does. Mihashi is half-drowsing when Abe murmurs, "They'll last for a few days, huh."

Mihashi hesitates (though it may be that he's half-asleep) before he nods, his fluffy hair tickling beneath Abe's chin.

Abe pulls him a little tighter, and then clears his throat. "You're going to need support," he says. "You can't miss practice, so you'll need some way to...contain them." Mihashi pulls away to stare at him, uncomprehending. His eyes cut away and mumbles a clarification: "We should go shopping for sports bras later."

Mihashi gasps and then squeezes him tighter, as if delighted by his tacit permission. Which is stupid, Abe thinks. He'd love Mihashi if he sprouted four eyes or tentacles, and Mihashi looks _happy_ like this, a hand unwinding from around Abe's middle to sleepily grope at his own breast. How could he refuse him?

Besides, Abe thinks, collecting data is always more interesting when there are wild cards involved.


End file.
